


Ruyana and the Wolf

by superfluouskeys



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F, Fantasy, Gen, Magical Elements, Romance, Self-Reflection, are any of these tags useful or relevant no one knows, mild mentions of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-28 17:49:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14454576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superfluouskeys/pseuds/superfluouskeys
Summary: Today there is to be a grand celebration of the Wolf Hunters.  Men come from far and wide to prove their strength and their bravery by hunting down these beasts of the forest, but there is one wolf only a fool would try to capture.





	Ruyana and the Wolf

**Author's Note:**

  * For [misslestrange274](https://archiveofourown.org/users/misslestrange274/gifts).



> Happy Birthday, Nika! <333 
> 
> This is definitely not an advertisement of any kind but an edited and slightly expanded version of this story might be available as an eBook on Amazon if you were hypothetically to search for it.

The Princess Ruyana sits by her window and twists her dark curls around her fingers.  She is named for the month of September, the deep red of the autumn leaves and the abundance of the harvest, but outside her window it is the dead of winter.

"Ruyana, aren't you ready yet?" her sister calls from the threshold.  "People will be arriving soon."

"Right," says Ruyana, and traces one last wistful swirl into the fog on the window before she stands.  "Sorry."

Today there will be a celebration of the Wolf Hunters.  At this time of year, the wolves grow desperate, starved of their usual fare, and they become a threat to the humble peasants and farmers who live at the forest's edge. 

Men come from far and wide—and it is always men—to prove their strength and their bravery by hunting down these beasts of the forest.  There are smaller celebrations throughout the surrounding villages, but this is meant to be the biggest and the last.  All the Wolf Hunters and their families, noble and common alike, are invited to the royal palace to share their triumphs, and in the hopes of earning praise and royal favours for their valour.

"Are you looking forward to seeing Peter again?" her sister asks her, with a suggestive lilt that turns her stomach.  Peter is a young man with a handsome face and a good family name, and Ruyana has known him for many years now.  This of course means that they ought to have been betrothed already.

Perhaps Ruyana ought to feel badly.  Peter has tried valiantly to court her affections, and Ruyana has thought on more than one occasion that it would be easier to accept his advances in the hope that someday she might learn to desire them.

Ruyana tries to tell herself there is no hurry.  It is Ruyana's sister, happy and willing Radmila, who is heiress to the throne, and Radmila has many suitors of whom she is genuinely fond.  Ruyana's marriage need not be so hasty or so political.

She must remind herself of this, for she cannot help but to hear the whispers, to feel the pressure from her family.  Not now, but someday, they say, and Ruyana has developed a dreadful aversion to someday.  She holds out hope that someday she might finally see in Peter what everyone wants her to see, or that she might meet someone new who inspires a bit more passion.

Or even a bit more fondness.

"I'm sure he'll be in high spirits," says Ruyana, in belated and decidedly flat response to her sister's question.  She focuses her attention on her own reflection in the mirror and affixes a shining silver pin into her dark hair.

"Maybe the pelt of Destruction will finally endear him to you," her sister teases.

Ruyana is unamused.  Peter is a very good Hunter, and he always goes after the grand prize, the biggest, fiercest wolves he can find.  But there is one wolf no one with any brains dares to hunt.  They call him Destruction, for that is all that awaits anyone who crosses him.  Some say he bears supernatural power, or that he is a creature from another world entirely.  Some say that his power emanates from the bright red amulet he is said to wear about his neck.  He has torn entire parties to shreds, taken on five, seven, ten men at once.  Only fools still go after him.

Is Peter a fool?  Ruyana finds in this moment that she does not know him well enough to be certain.  "What would that prove?" she wonders.  "That a reckless fool got very lucky?"  Her frown deepens, and she shakes her head.  "If anything, I think I should like him less."

She feels badly for spoiling her sister's good humour, and wishes dearly that she'd responded with the cheerful dismissal she was meant to.  "I was only teasing, Ruyana," says her sister sternly.  "You'd do well to be kinder to Peter.  He's a good man."

—-

The ballroom is decorated in shades of the forest in wintertime, all silver and green and pale blue.  Ruyana's gown shimmers like the frost on a glassy lake, while her sister's glitters like the dew on the evergreen trees. 

Their parents have already situated themselves upon their thrones at the end of a long red carpet, waiting to greet their esteemed guests.  To one side, the instrumentalists have started playing something grand and sweeping.  Ruyana grabs Radmila's hands in delight, and together they turn a few circles across the ballroom floor to see their skirts spin, but Radmila pulls away, laughing but with a seriousness hanging about her, and retreats to sit by their mother's side.

There's a spot for Ruyana, too, at their father's side, but she is reluctant to take it just yet.  She'd have liked to keep dancing, and is surprised that her sister won't indulge her just a little longer. 

Failing that, she would comfort herself by thinking that surely there will be plenty of opportunities to dance this evening, but Peter doesn't like to dance, and she doubts there is anyone who would dare ask Ruyana to dance in his stead.

It's a depressing thought, really.  She doesn't particularly relish the thought of marrying Peter, yet how is she to find any more favourable prospects when everyone already defers to him, as though the matter is settled just because he wishes it?

A trumpet call announces the arrival of the first guests, and Ruyana is obliged to take her place at her father's side.  Her family barely acknowledges her as she sits, and her mood sours further.  The guests who fancy themselves more important usually wait to arrive a bit later, so that everyone can watch them descend the staircase.  The whole affair is so affected, so predetermined, that it's beginning to get on Ruyana's nerves.

After some dreadful amount of time has passed, the families of the men in Peter's hunting party are announced.  The musicians take up a marching tune, and Ruyana's interest is regained only because she is fond of some of the men's wives.

They look like they've all coordinated, each with a gown of a deep jewel shade.  Two of the women have children old enough to attend, and they've matched their children's clothes to theirs with little pins or flowers. 

Ruyana would like to go and talk with some of them, but she isn't meant to move from her seat until the better part of the guests have arrived.  Instead, she waves exuberantly as the women approach the throne to curtsey.  The children wave back.  Two of the younger women dare a smile and a little wave, which in turn earns Ruyana a warning glance from her parents.  The others do their best to ignore her.

Peter's hunting party enters to tremendous fanfare.  Ruyana doesn't bother to applaud.  Her approval won't be missed.  None of them have bothered to coordinate with their wives' dresses.  Most of them are draped in wolf pelts, or bear the medals of past successes.  All the men in the party bear red paint in angry, jagged lines across the right side of their faces.

When Peter enters, Ruyana sees why.  On the right side of his face, he bears not red paint, but the fresh scars of a wolf's claws.

Is Peter a fool?

They approach in some kind of predetermined order to bow before the royal family.  Those who are vying for the attentions of the heiress apparent present her with tokens of their affection, which happy and willing Radmila accepts graciously.  Ruyana wonders whether the lines they've filed into mean anything, for Peter follows at the very end of the procession.

He kneels and bows low before the king and queen, displaying the rich, tawny brown of a wolf's pelt draped over his shoulders, but when he lifts his head, his eyes are trained upon Ruyana.

The look in his eyes turns her stomach.

"You bear quite the battle scar, Peter," says Ruyana's father, the king.

Peter nods once, slowly.  "Yes, Majesty," he says, loud enough for everyone to hear.  The music is cut short, and the entire ballroom falls silent as he stands.

Sometimes Ruyana resents him for how intently people listen to him.  No ballroom full of people has ever fallen silent for her, or for her sister, or even for her mother, the queen.

Still Peter is watching her even as he addresses the room, even as he waits for the silence he knows he commands.  "My wounds were well worth the reward," he continues at last, still too loud to be speaking just to her.  "I come bearing a gift for you, Princess, if you will accept it."

It isn't a question.  To refuse would be a terrible offense.

Peter approaches Ruyana's place at her father's side and kneels again.  From his pocket, he produces a bright red amulet on a heavy golden chain.  Everyone in the ballroom gasps once they catch sight of it.

"I offer you the Amulet of Destruction," says Peter, needlessly.

Ruyana feels every eye in the room turn from Peter to her, and she's certain she'll lose consciousness.  The room is spinning, and her vision is blurring at the edges.  Peter is offering her Destruction's Amulet.  Is it real?  Did he really go after Destruction?  Did he...?

"You took this?" Ruyana feels herself standing on shaky legs.  She is talking to Peter, but her eyes are trained upon the glowing red amulet.  "From Destruction?"

"From his lair," says Peter.  He stands to meet her, but before Ruyana can even feel relieved that he is no longer kneeling, he is unclasping the golden chain and reaching out for her neck.  He draws near enough that she can feel the warmth from his body, that his shadow eclipses the light from the chandeliers, and Ruyana feels cold and alone and defenseless.  I had designed to steal a bit of his power so that he might one day be slain."

Ruyana cannot help but to think that if it were not for the grand celebration, the thousands of eyes upon them, the warning eyes of her family, she would refuse.  She would push his hands away, push his stolen amulet away, and run as far and as fast as she could.  What an impossibly stupid thing to think, that an amulet holds a wolf's strength, that stealing it from his lair is an act of bravery and not of cowardice.

And to think that such a foolish act means anything to anyone here!  Has Peter considered what his actions might wreak in the real world, where magic and amulets hold no sway?  What of the poor villagers and farmers who live at the edge of the forest, the ones the Wolf Hunters claim to protect?  What will become of them when Destruction finds he has been robbed of his little treasure?

Maybe the pelt of Destruction will finally endear him to you, her sister had teased her earlier, and the words catch in her mind now.  Has Peter truly done this with Ruyana in mind?  Could anyone misunderstand her heart more completely?

Peter is waiting for her answer.  The whole ballroom full of people is waiting, stone silent, watching.  Destruction's Amulet sits heavy and wrong against her chest, warm from Peter's palm, but she imagines it burning her flesh.  She dares a glance around the room, forces what she's certain is nothing like a smile, and says what is expected of her.  "Thank you, brave Peter, for your gift."

—-

Ruyana picks at the glitter on her skirt.  She adored this dress a month ago, the way the skirt catches the light from the chandeliers and sparkles like something magical, but now the thought of magic turns her stomach, and the dress makes it difficult for her to move about unnoticed.  Everyone wants to effuse at her about Peter's bravery, to touch the amulet that hangs upon her chest, to ask her when they will be formally betrothed.

When at last she thinks she has found respite, hidden away in a corner by the stairs with a plate piled high with sweets, Tierney, the youngest of the Hunters' wives, peeks around the banister.  "Hiding already?"

Ruyana gesticulates vaguely while she finishes a mouthful of chocolate.  It's a little embarrassing for someone to notice so quickly how this day is wearing on her.  It isn't that she doesn't like parties, it's just that no one at this party is being very fun.

Tierney spins herself in a little circle before she descends to the floor with her emerald green skirts billowing around her.  The colour brings out the red in her hair and the freckles all across her cheeks and her bared shoulders   Ruyana's parents say Tierney doesn't care much for propriety because she is young, but Ruyana likes to hope that time won't take that from her, at least not completely.

Not the way it seems to be working upon her own sister.

"Soooo," Tierney begins with a playful tilt of her head.  "The Amulet of Destruction, huh?"

Ruyana groans and offers her a handful of chocolates, which Tierney accepts happily.

"Have you ever heard the one about how no one ever truly escapes Destruction?  That she marks her prey so she can find them later?"

Ruyana frowns.  "She?"

Tierney sighs.  "That was your takeaway from what I just said?"

Ruyana eyes her plate dolefully, decides upon a little cake with a flower made out of frosting.  "There are a lot of terrible stories about Destruction," she says to the cake.  "I've never heard anyone suggest Destruction is a 'she.'"

Tierney readjusts on the floor, and her feet poke out from beneath her skirts.  "All right, hear me out," she says, with barely-muted excitement.

Ruyana can't help but to notice (not without considerable envy) that she's wearing regular old house shoes beneath her pretty dress, but she doesn't want to distract from Tierney's story a second time.

"Once upon a time there was this lady, right?" Tierney gesticulates with a piece of chocolate.  "Beautiful, but kind of a social pariah.  People can understand if you don't like big parties, but after her parents died, she just kept on living alone in this little house at the edge of town, barely had anyone over, rejected multiple suitors, that kind of thing."

Tierney leans in, shields the side of her face with her hand as though imparting a secret.  "Rumours started to spread, that she was a witch, that she preferred the company of other women, you know how it goes."  She waves her hand dismissively.  "Anyhow, this Wolf Hunter takes an interest in her, right?  Won't take no for an answer.  He's sure she's just playing hard to get, that she places a high value upon her own beauty, and that a suitor ought to act accordingly."

Without fully realizing it, Ruyana's gaze falls upon Peter somewhere far across the room, surrounded by adoring fans.  "If he was a Wolf Hunter, mustn't he have had plenty of other prospects?" she wonders wistfully.  "Why keep on pursuing a woman who isn't interested?"

Tierney follows her gaze, and the words that follow are a little gentler.  "Oh, you know men.  The thrill of the chase, the triumph over something difficult to catch."

"So, what happened?" Ruyana returns her attention to Tierney.  "Did he win her over?"

Tierney readjusts again.  She sits up on her knees and leans in conspiratorially.  "Now here's where the story gets murky," she says, with a little grin.  "In some versions, he caught her performing some sort of magic ritual—imagine, like, green skin and a pointy hat waving her hands over a bubbling cauldron, you know?" she laughs. 

"But in other versions, he caught her with someone else!  Sometimes it's in bed, sometimes it's just sitting in the kitchen drinking tea, point is—he was enraged!  So he tore the amulet from her neck and stole her power, and with it, he decreed that the world would see her for what she truly was: a monster."

Ruyana leans back in her chair while she takes in the story Tierney has told her.  "You think she became Destruction," she breathes.

"Makes sense, doesn't it?"

Ruyana manages a breathy kind of laughter.  "As much as anything else, I suppose."

"Anyway," says Tierney as she heaves herself up from the floor, "I'd better get back to Andrei before he eats all the cheese."

"Tierney?" Ruyana speaks up before she's fully decided to.

Tierney turns around, waits expectantly for words Ruyana's mind has barely formed.

"Why did you marry him?"

For an instant, Tierney's cheerful expression falters, but it's only an instant, and then she paints on her usual playful smile.  "Well, I didn't want to get turned into a wolf, now, did I?"  She taps Ruyana's nose with her pointer finger and then twirls away, and Ruyana is left to wonder to what extent she was joking.

—-

Ruyana quickly finds herself in the unbearable position of being alone, surrounded by people she doesn't want to talk to.  Tierney has taken up dancing with her husband, Radmila is inundated with friends and suitors alike, and once Peter has escaped his adoring fans, he finds her almost immediately.  She didn't say enough earlier, she knows.  She didn't effuse over a gift that could have cost him his life, and now he is expecting more.

Always more.  More than she has to give.

"So, what happened?" Ruyana tries.  "With Destruction, I mean."

But instead of a thrilling tale, she is granted only, "I meant to creep in while he slept, but he wasn't in his lair at all.  He showed himself when I fled."

"Weren't you armed?" Ruyana wonders.

Peter frowns subtly, lifts his chin a little higher.  "Only a fool would fight Destruction alone."

There are a lot of things Ruyana would like to say, that she thinks only a fool would hunt Destruction at all, that entering Destruction's lair, thinking himself faster or sneakier or cleverer than a wolf of legend is the most foolish thing she can think of, but it isn't what he wants to hear, and she has nothing to say that would be more to his liking, and so she responds with a simple, "Hm."

His response is possibly the worst thing she can imagine, something she'd thought in passing and dismissed as ridiculous.  "I did this for you, Ruyana," says Peter, and it doesn't feel like something a sweetheart would say.  It feels like an admonition.  Or a warning.

"I never asked you to!" Ruyana snaps back before she can stop herself.

"You never ask for anything!" says Peter, and his expression almost changes.  He holds out his arms.  "I don't know what you want."

All the fire leaves Ruyana then, for in truth, she doesn't know, either.  Something else.  Something more than this.

Who is she to want some nebulous more?  Who is she, when her sister seems so contented to do what is expected of her, and when her friend teases so lightheartedly at the consequences of defying her destiny?

She thinks of what her sister said to her, about the pelt of Destruction and about Peter, and she swallows whatever she might have had left to say.  She tries again.  "Would you like to dance, Peter?" she asks, as cheerfully as she can.

Peter's expression does not change.  It never changes.  Happy, excited, disappointed, enamoured, they all look much the same.

"If you would like to," he replies flatly.

Somehow it's the worst thing he could have said.  "If you don't want to, just say so," Ruyana frowns.

Peter raises his eyebrows, a vague, washed out kind of surprise.

"What?" Ruyana demands.

"Are you upset with me?" Peter asks her.

"No!" Ruyana throws up her hands.  "I'm just—!  I'm...!"

She doesn't know how to put it into words, how she is named for the abundance of autumn, but in her heart she feels nothing but a cold, colourless winter.

In the end, she is not afforded enough time to try to answer him.  A terrible scream rings out from above them, and at the top of the grand staircase, a woman appears with her ballgown spackled bright red.  One of the guards helps her down the stairs while the others stand at the ready.

Ruyana has only ever seen crude drawings of the wolf called Destruction.  She always thought that if not for the telltale red amulet, she would not know Destruction from any other wolf.

She was mistaken.

She has seen wolves from a distance, has seen their pelts and the horrifying stuffed remains some of the hunters put up in their homes.  She has seen wolves that ranged in size from a common hound to the height of her shoulders, wolves white as snow and black as night, ruddy and brown and tan and grey and even golden.

The wolf that appears at the top of the grand staircase is in a class of its own.  It is big, bigger than the guards whose knuckles grow white around their swords, and its coat is shiny and black and streaked with grey, but most notable are the wolf's eyes.  Ruyana never thought much about wolf's eyes before.  She's seen them mostly depicted as brown or yellow, heard them described in Hunters' tales, but this wolf's eyes are bright green, and they seem to glow with a light of their own as it surveys the room.

Ruyana realizes suddenly that no one has moved since the wolf appeared.  There is no mass chaos, no noise at all, no one trying to get away.  They all stand petrified beneath the wolf's gaze.

The first noise Ruyana hears comes from behind her.  Peter has drawn his sword.  He places his free hand on Ruyana's shoulder and pulls her behind him as he marches forward to challenge the wolf.

"Peter, no," Ruyana breathes, though she knows it's no use.

The wolf is watching them both now, shoulders rising and falling gently with its breath, but otherwise unmoving.

Ruyana hears the faint metallic sounds of other swords being drawn.  Peter's hunting party is following his lead, advancing upon the grand staircase together as their wives and their friends and their children try to stop them.

The wolf does not look away from Peter—or so Ruyana thinks.  When Peter moves to lead his party into battle, the truth becomes clear: the wolf has not looked away from her.

"Peter," she whispers.  Stammers, maybe.  "Peter, wait."

She grabs hold of his wrist, but he shakes her off.  "Stay back, Ruyana," he says.

"Don't do this, Peter," Ruyana continues.  "Only a fool would go after Destruction.  Are you a fool?"

He turns back to her sharply, and there's more emotion in his eyes and the set of his jaw than she has ever witnessed.  Suddenly she understands him.  He is angry, and hurt, and afraid, and he thinks the way to solve these things is to draw his sword and throw his life away.

People will sing his praises when he dies.  They will call it bravery.

Destruction begins to descend the grand staircase slowly, regally.  The guards do not try to stop him.  One of the men in Peter's hunting party faints dead away, cuts his arm on his own sword as he falls to the floor.  Another quickly follows suit.  No one dares move to help them.

As the wolf nears the base of the stairs, it looks up into Ruyana's eyes again.  Into her eyes, and then down to the amulet that hangs from her neck.

"Lower your sword, Peter," Ruyana says, stronger now, more certain.

"I am no fool, Ruyana," says Peter coldly.  "And I am no coward."

The wolf places a paw, unfathomably large, upon the ballroom floor.  A few of the men move in, meaning to threaten.  One low, thunderous growl sends several of their swords clattering to the floor, unbearably loud in the stillness of the room.

Ruyana reaches for Peter's arm again.  "Get back, Ruyana!" he cries, and when he pushes her away, she falls to the floor.  The wolf continues its slow, steady, menacing approach.  Peter does not move, does not lower his sword, does not even seem to breathe.

Ruyana scrambles to her feet and comes around the other side.  She hears her sister and her parents and her friends calling out, "Ruyana, no!  Princess, stop!"  But she cannot listen to them, not now.  She reaches out and places her hand firmly upon the blade of Peter's sword, feels it cut into her palm as she pushes it down. 

Peter stares at her, wide-eyed and disbelieving, still unwilling to back down, but perhaps something in her expression communicates what she cannot put into words.  At last, slowly, he allows his sword to fall to the floor at his feet.

Ruyana turns to Destruction once more.  Her arms and legs feel cold and numb, and she can hear her heart hammering in her ears.  "It's all right," she says. 

The wolf doesn't move.  It watches her, waits.

"Ruyana, please!" she hears someone cry out.

"It's all right," she says again, perhaps to herself.  Then, to Destruction, she says, "You just want what was stolen from you, don't you?"

Ruyana reaches for the clasp at the back of her neck and releases herself from her heavy golden chain.  She holds the amulet out to the wolf, and faintly realizes she is trembling.

"Ruyana, what are you doing?" Peter cries.

The wolf crouches low and his growl is like a gathering storm.  Peter falls silent.  Ruyana kneels before Destruction.

Destruction doesn't growl again.  He sits, and he bows his enormous head to her.

Ruyana feels terror jolt through her, cold and fresh like ice water, but she has come this far.  She nods slowly and inches forward on her knees, amulet outstretched, fully expecting the wolf to attack, or to run, or to take the amulet from her hand by force.

The wolf does not attack her.

Destruction's fur is coarse and prickly beneath her palms, and his breath comes in quick, warm huffs that send chills dancing across her skin.  Ruyana's hands are shaking so badly that she misses the clasp twice, but she bites the inside of her mouth and she frowns until she manages it, and, "There," she whispers.

She means to retreat as quickly as possible, but something holds her there.  She feels the amulet against her chest, now hanging from the wolf's neck.  She remembers how she thought it felt warm against her skin from Peter's hands, but her own hands are ice cold.

The amulet begins to glow, so brightly that Ruyana can hear the crowd gasping, can see them shielding their eyes in her periphery, but she cannot bring herself to look away.  She squints against the terrible light, and she blinks away tears as she watches the wolf before her take on a new shape.

The wolf twists and hunches and heaves and howls, and when the light as last begins to dim, Destruction has left a human woman in its wake.

"Oh," Ruyana utters.

The woman is no smaller or less scruffy than the wolf she left behind.  Her shoulders are broad and her muscles defined.  Her hair is the same jet black streaked with grey, though her face does not suggest advanced age.  She takes in ragged gasps of breath and her fingers curl around the amulet that hangs from her neck.  The motion draws Ruyana's eye, and something she should have already realized comes screeching to the forefront of her consciousness: the woman is naked.

Tierney comes to the rescue.  Ruyana hasn't heard her approach, but suddenly the woman's bright green eyes dart upward, and Tierney offers up her cloak.

"Tierney, get away from that beast!" her husband calls, belatedly, and his words shatter the stillness.  The ballroom erupts into noise, cries of "Witch!  Beast!  Monster!  Temptress!" and people dragging their loved ones towards the far wall.  The wolf-woman's eyes have fallen to the floor, and her dark hair falls across her face as though to shield her.

Tierney does not retreat.  She takes two tentative steps forward and drapes her cloak over the wolf-woman's shoulders.  "Come on," she says, and though her tone is hushed, she doesn't sound particularly afraid.

Ruyana takes Tierney's hand and clambers to her feet, then in turn, she offers her own hands to the wolf-woman.  "Can you walk?" she asks.

The woman looks up at her sharply, still with the same bright green eyes that seem to glow of their own accord.  They are the eyes of a beast, and the eyes of a legend.  Ruyana is transfixed.

Finally, the wolf-woman nods slowly, and she takes Ruyana's hands.

The cloak hangs loosely over her shoulders as she stands.  Once she has gotten her balance, though, her hand returns to her amulet, and she seems to pay little mind to the cloak.

Together, Ruyana and Tierney lead the wolf-woman through the stunned crowd and towards the stairs that lead up to her quarters, presumably to find her something suitable to wear.  She expects resistance, or at least more fruitless shouting, but receives little.  No one moves, hardly anyone speaks, every last one of them terrified of a naked woman who only came here to retrieve what was stolen from her.

—-

"I've had a lot of names," says the wolf-woman, in a voice that is low and hoarse.  "The first was Morana."

Named for the dead of winter.  How fitting.

Tierney has convinced two of the other Hunters' wives to help her bring up some hot tea, but she could not convince them to stay and listen.  They might have found Morana a dress that fits her well enough, but she still looks much more like a wolf than any human should.

"Were you always a wolf?" Tierney wonders.  She has situated herself on Ruyana's floor, legs crossed beneath her skirts.

Morana's brow furrows subtly.  "No," she says, but gently, like she's uncertain.  "But I've been a wolf for so long, it is strange to remember."

"Are you a witch?" Ruyana asks her, then belatedly wonders whether that is an appropriate way to approach such a question.  "Sorry.  It's just that before a little while ago, I didn't believe in magic."

Morana nods thoughtfully, but she does not seem offended.  "I'm not some sort of supernatural being, imbued with powers beyond mortal comprehension, if that's what you mean," she says.  "But I have been called 'witch' many times."  The corners of her lips quirk upward into a subtle and captivating smile.  "And for many reasons," she amends.

"What about the amulet?" Ruyana presses.

Morana's smile widens, but it also turns sad.  "It was a gift," she says, and curls her fingers around her amulet once more.  "So many people aimed to capture me, to woo me, to trick me into giving them more than I had to give, but she gave me this amulet to protect me."

"Is it true, then?" asks Tierney.  "The story about the jilted lover who stole your power?"

"Jilted lover," Morana scoffs.  "He was as nothing to me.  I might have known he would turn it into some grand tale of his own bravery."  She bows her head, and her knuckles whiten about her amulet.  "All he did was steal my life from me."

"But the amulet did that?  It turned you into a wolf?" Tierney wonders.

Morana is silent for what feels like a long while.  When she speaks, she does not lift her head.  "A treasured friend gave me this amulet to protect me, and so it has done, albeit in ways that aren't always easy to understand.  A bitter and jealous man bestowed it upon me as a curse, but the Princess Ruyana," she nods her head in Ruyana's direction, and Ruyana's heard flutters unhelpfully, "saw beyond what I appeared to be.  She gave it to me because she felt it was mine to do with as I pleased."

Morana uncurls her fingers and holds the bright red amulet in her open palm.  "The magic is in the meaning," she says at last.

Ruyana feels herself beginning to smile, feels the warmth from the tea spreading through her, and a peculiar sense of hope building somewhere in her chest.  "So what will you do now?" she asks.

With her free hand, Morana takes up her tea, and indulges in a long, contemplative sip.

"I don't know," she says after a moment's silence.  "Truthfully I never considered what would become of me if I were freed from my curse.  The day that it happened seemed so dramatic, so final, that what followed felt...inevitable."  She looks up and into Ruyana's eyes.  "But I suppose anything is possible, isn't it?" she wonders.

Ruyana nods slowly, and she does her best to swallow down the feeling that she might begin to cry.  "Yes," she agrees quietly.  "Maybe it is."

The next brave soul to venture upstairs into Ruyana's quarters is her sister, Radmila, who walks with cautious, tentative footfalls and enters the room with a trembling hand upon the doorframe.  Ruyana imagines she has come with some goal in mind, but they've just spent the better part of an hour telling Morana all the stories they can remember about the wolf called Destruction, and now Morana is in the middle of telling them a bit about her life before.

In the end, Radmila stands at the door in silence, and she listens, and when Morana has come to a stopping point, and all the eyes in the room fall to Radmila, all she says is, "They're starting to calm down.  The guard the wolf scratched on the way in is going to be all right."  Then, to Tierney,  "Andrei asked to speak with you."

Tierney groans, but she stands to indicate her compliance.  "Maybe the two of us can talk everyone down a little more," she says to Morana.  "Maybe you could make a proper entrance," she shrugs.   
"Reintroduce yourself?"

Morana averts her gaze.  "I've never been very good at parties."

"Neither have I," says Ruyana.  She isn't certain why she has trouble meeting Morana's eyes.  "But I had Tierney to look after me tonight when I was feeling overwhelmed," she continues with a little smile, "and you'll have the both of us."

"What a funny end to a Wolf Hunters' celebration," Tierney laughs.  "The guest of honour is Destruction, herself!"

"Why don't we take a walk around the courtyard?" Ruyana suggests.  "Give everyone a bit of time to get used to the idea."

Morana nods her assent and stands, but she still looks very concerned.

"Ruyana?" says Radmila from the doorframe.  "Can I talk to you?"

Tierney reaches for Morana's arm and leads her towards the hallway.  "Let's do something about that hair first," she says cheerfully.

Ruyana hasn't found it in herself to stand yet.  She waits with head bowed for whatever her sister might have to say, though she's not sure what she's done, to be feeling so guilty all of a sudden.

"Peter is beside himself," says Radmila.

Ruyana sighs heavily.  "How is that my problem?" she snaps, but her guilt intensifies.

"Well..." her sister hedges.  "You did embarrass him."

This proves enough to bring Ruyana to her feet.  "Embarrass him?" she cries.  "He would have—!"

She almost says he would have killed her, but she remembers, belatedly, that it would have been the other way around.

"He would have died," she finishes, lamely.  "He didn't know what to do, and I did.  If there is any shame in that, it should not be mine."

"But you could just as easily have died!" Radmila presses.  "You could have been wrong!"

'So?" Ruyana throws out her arms.  "So, we both took a risk, and we both could have been wrong.  How is that my fault?"

"It's—I'm not—" Radmila closes her eyes and shakes her head.  "I'm sorry," she says.  "It isn't your fault, I was just...I'm sorry.  I was worried."

"She isn't a witch," says Ruyana, reaching for her sister's hands.  "She's just a person who had her life stolen from her.  She deserves a second chance."

And maybe she isn't just talking about Morana.  Maybe she's talking about Radmila, too.  Maybe it's a quiet plea to her sister not to give up the things she once loved so quickly.

Somehow, Radmila seems to understand.  She squeezes Ruyana's hands with a little nod, then pinches her nose before she pulls away.  "I'll try and tell everyone that," she says.

—-

The dress they found for Morana belongs to Radmila, and it's a deep, shimmering royal blue.  It's a little tight in the bust and hips, and it's too short to cover her ankles, but for such an unexpected situation, it works surprisingly well.  She returned Tierney's cloak and instead borrowed a heavier one for their proposed outdoor stroll.  Her wild hair cascades down past the small of her back, and Tierney pulled some of it back out of her face with one of Ruyana's silver pins. 

Ruyana thinks about the story of the beautiful woman who hated socializing, yet had countless suitors, and she fully understands it.

"I never thought I'd set foot inside the walls of this castle," says Morana to the night sky.

"Surely you were invited?" says Ruyana.

Morana is silent a moment.  "A few times, yes," she says.  "But an invitation does not always mean that one would feel welcomed."

"Oh."  Ruyana starts to ask whether they're forcing her into going back to the party at all, hoping to turn a shocking series of events back into a pleasant evening for their own comfort, but before she can make sense of her thoughts, Morana speaks again.

"It is interesting to be a point of fascination," she says.  "Different than before."

"Good or bad?" Ruyana wonders.

Morana glances in her direction, and she smiles.  "It remains to be seen."

The smile sets Ruyana's heart aflutter, and she feels compelled to look down at her feet.  For some reason, fragments of the story Tierney told and the confirmation Morana gave are catching in her mind.  "In the story Tierney told..." she begins, clumsily, "...the man, the one who stole your power, caught you with...someone else.  I just wondered, I mean..."

Morana's first response is a mirthless chuckle.  "As though bursting into my home and seeing me with my love were some sort of cruel revelation," she says.

"Tierney suggested..." Ruyana begins, but the words catch in her throat and muddle in her mind. "I mean, what you said, about the amulet...I'm sorry, I hope you won't think I'm rude for asking, it's..."

She looks up, and Morana's bright green eyes are trained on the sky above them.  The sight of her steals whatever words Ruyana might have had left to say from her lips, and she falls silent.

Morana's hand finds her amulet before she speaks.  "Yes, my love and the woman who gave me this amulet are one and the same," she says.  "Were.  She is long-dead now."

"I'm sorry," Ruyana breathes.

Morana shakes her head.  "Everyone I have ever known is long-dead.  So it goes when your life is stolen from you."  She turns her gaze to Ruyana once more.  "But it seems I have been afforded a second chance."  The corners of her lips quirk upward.  "I don't know what I'll do after tonight."

"You could stay here," Ruyana says, perhaps impulsively, and a little too quickly, even though it's a perfectly logical solution.

"Could I?" Morana wonders.  Her smile widens, but there is something new in her tone.  "You would harbour a witch and a monster within these walls?"

Ruyana looks up at her, and feels something far sweeter than simple fear coursing through her.  "I don't think you're either of those things," she says.

At some point they stopped walking, and Morana moved a bit closer than Ruyana realized.  Morana looks down at Ruyana and inclines her head curiously, still with that captivating little smile about her lips, and she brushes the back of her fingers lightly against Ruyana's cheek.  "Are you quite certain?" she wonders.

Ruyana feels her knees go weak, feels as though the world around her has become somehow unsteady.  She tries to wrap her mind around too many things at once, and it renders her dizzy.  She thinks of the nothing she felt for Peter and the something she feels now, of what transpired in the ballroom earlier and where it has led, and in the present moment, she cannot even begin to formulate a coherent response.

Morana watches her a moment, then turns away with a different kind of smile, like she has a secret with herself.  Together they continue their walk towards the castle's main entrance, and above them, a light snow begins to fall.

"I'm not sure what will happen when we get inside," says Ruyana quietly.

"Are you worried for your noble Hunter?" Morana wonders airily.

Ruyana lets out a little breath of mirthless laughter.  "It's funny," she says.  "When I was talking with my sister, my first thought was that he could have killed you, when really, it would have been the other way around."

"I'm sure he will be moved by your concern."

Ruyana sighs.  "Tierney said you rejected countless suitors."

Morana hums knowingly.  "It's tricky when they're powerful.  Wolf Hunters have always thought rather highly of themselves."

"And then, when I asked Tierney about her own husband, she acted like she just married him because..." Ruyana shakes her head, gestures vaguely at nothing.  "Because it was inevitable."  She looks up, wide-eyed and desperate for an answer she knows Morana can't really give her.  "Is it?" she wonders.  "I mean—"

She almost says, _look at what happened to you_ , and though she stops herself, Morana's response indicates that she understands, anyway.

"Consider this," says Morana.  "Suppose I had given into that man's many, many advances.  Would it have saved me from living for a few centuries as a wolf?  Probably.  But what of my love?  What of all the rest of the years of my life I would have to spend at his side?  A life ruled by fear is hardly a life at all."

Ruyana begins to protest, but the words die on her lips.  Morana moves to stand in front of Ruyana, and she places her hands on Ruyana's shoulders.  "Your Hunter might think very highly of himself, but do not forget that you are a princess, and beyond that, you are a person."

Ruyana very nearly asks another absurd question.  _It can really happen, then?_ she wants to know.  _You can really fall in love, and it can feel..._

A fleck of snow catches on her eyelashes, and she finds that she is laughing as she flicks it away.  She has never thought to find such joy in the dead of winter.

They're approaching the main entrance at last.  The guards have changed out, but they do not cower or draw their weapons when they see Ruyana and Morana approaching.  Instead, they bow in deference and hold open the doors.

"I'm still a little afraid," Ruyana confesses quietly as they enter the foyer, and she isn't even certain what she means.  What is it she's afraid of, exactly?  Peter?  Her family?  The kingdom?

Morana nods thoughtfully.  "If it's any consolation, I expect everyone in the ballroom will be more frightened of us than we are of them."

She offers Ruyana her arm, and Ruyana takes it happily as they approach the grand staircase.

When the crier announces them, as though they were any other guests just arriving, the ballroom falls utterly silent.  Every eye in the room is upon them as they descend the stairs, arm in arm, and Ruyana feels as though she might lose her footing if not for Morana's steady support.

They make their way down the length of the red carpet to where the king and queen are meant to sit.  Ruyana's parents are standing, huddled close together, watching them with wide eyes and slackened jaws.

Morana curtseys low before them.  "Your Majesties," she says quietly, but the room is so quiet that nearly everyone can hear her.  "I thank you for your hospitality, and offer my sincerest apologies for my most unfortunate arrival."

To Ruyana's surprise, it is her mother who speaks.  "It was...beyond your control, Lady Morana."  She squeezes her husband's arm and withdraws.  "We welcome you on the word of our daughters."

Morana looks up, and she stands slowly, as though surprised.  "Thank you," she says, barely above a whisper, like she'd expected something else, or to have to say more.

"Please," says Radmila to the musicians, but she offers Ruyana a little smile over her shoulder.  "Play something to dance to!"

The musicians exchange glances amongst themselves, then several of them shrug and take up their instruments.  They launch into a boisterous dance number, and hesitantly, the party's guests dare to start speaking again.  Radmila holds out her hands to one of her suitors, and he follows her happily out into the center of the room to start the dancing.  Tierney quickly follows, dragging her husband behind her, and after that, several others follow suit.

Ruyana looks up at Morana, who is watching the dancing with something like shock upon her features.  She shakes her head slowly, and then returns Ruyana's gaze with a little smile.  "I...suppose it is all right, after all," she says.

Ruyana feels a flutter of something like hope mixed with fear in her chest.  "I...don't suppose you'd like to dance?" she dares.

Morana winces subtly, and she glances over her shoulder.  "Won't people be upset?"

Ruyana shrugs, in a great show of acting far more cavalier than she feels.  "Maybe," she says.  "But didn't you say a life ruled by fear is hardly a life at all?"

Morana smiles at her fully then, so wide it wrinkles her eyes and dimples her cheeks.  "I suppose I did, didn't I?" she says.

Ruyana offers her hands, and Morana takes them firmly, and Ruyana has always preferred to lead, anyway, so they quickly fall into a very enjoyable, and rather elegant dance.  And the best part is that if anyone is upset, if anyone casts them so much as a sideways glance, neither one of them notices.

—-

Later on in the evening, when an abundance of wine has rendered everyone braver and friendlier, Morana is called upon a few dozen times to recount the true story of her transformation.  Ruyana leans against the wall and breathes deeply, a vain attempt to ground herself in what feels like it ought to be a dream, but she isn't left alone for very long.

"Ruyana," says Peter, low and almost sullen.

Ruyana closes her eyes.  She is very nearly overcome by the urge to apologize to Peter, and she knows that is what he wants, even what he expects.  Indeed, she knows this with such certainty that she can think of nothing more appropriate to say.  "How is your night, Peter?" she tries.

"Hm," says Peter.  "Suffice it to say, I thought it would be very different."

"So you made a mistake," Ruyana shrugs, and opens her eyes slowly.  Before she can say anything else, Peter interrupts her.

"A mistake?  I was trying to protect you!  To protect everyone!"

Ruyana looks at Peter, really looks at him, at the hardness of his eyes and the tension in his jaw, and she wonders how she could have allowed this facade to go on as long as it has.

"Only a fool goes after Destruction, Peter," she says.  "Were you trying to prove your bravery to people who never doubted it, or were you trying to prove it to yourself?"

Peter looks like he wants to yell at her again.  Instead, he deflates.  In the general direction of his shoes, he says, "I meant to ask for your hand tonight."

Ruyana sighs, and she closes her eyes for another brief moment.  She straightens her posture and places her hands on Peter's shoulders.  "Don't you think there ought to be more than this, Peter?" she wonders.  "There are a lot of people who would be delighted by your attention."

"But not you," he says, still to the floor.

Ruyana squeezes his shoulders and withdraws.  "But not me," she says.

Peter nods slowly, and instead of saying anything, he turns away and he leaves, not just the conversation, but the celebration as a whole.  Ruyana watches him trudge up the grand staircase, watches him shove one of the guards aside as he exits, and might have continued watching the empty doorway if not for a welcome interruption.

"Soooo," says Tierney, leaning an arm against the wall by Ruyana's head.  "Couldn't be satisfied with just the amulet, huh?  You wanted the whole wolf!"

Ruyana covers her face while Tierney laughs, but her embarrassment feels different somehow, warmer and happier than embarrassment ought rightly to feel.

"Really, though," Tierney continues.  "That was something else, dancing with her in front of everyone like that.  I wish...well, nevermind."

"What?" Ruyana presses as she allows her hands to fall from her face.

Tierney smiles, but it's sadder than her usual look.  "I wish I were braver, I suppose."

Ruyana turns to face her, surprised.  "You're one of the bravest people I know," she says

"People see bravery in funny ways," says Tierney.  "It might look like bravery to bluster and bare your sword when you're the one in the wrong, but we both know it isn't.  I might try to defy tradition in little ways, but it's easy to seem brave when you aren't really risking anything."

"That isn't the same at all," says Ruyana.  "That means something.  It..." she shrugs.  "It meant something to me."

Tierney's brow furrows.  "Yeah?"

Ruyana nods and squeezes her shoulders.

"Well."  She lets out a little breath of laughter.  "Huh.  That's...well."  She smiles up at Ruyana and squeezes Ruyana's hands atop her shoulders.

\---

It’s either very late at night or very early in the morning when the guests begin to retire.  Some return to their homes, others are relegated to guest rooms, and still others partake in a little too much wine and set about sleeping long before a bed can be offered.

Ruyana sets Morana up in one of the nicer guest rooms, brings her a pile of linens and clothes that might fit her, and then retires to her own room to wash her face and change into her nightclothes.

Morana finds her standing out on her balcony in the snow with a blanket draped over her shoulders to shield her from the cold.

“Do you have everything you need?” Ruyana asks her.

Morana nods.  “You’ve done more than enough.”  She looks up at the night sky, lets the snow fall onto her face and catch in her wild hair.  “You gave my life back to me,” she says. “I don’t know how to thank you for that.”

“You don’t have to thank me for that,” says Ruyana, surprised.  “What happened to you was...unthinkable. I can’t imagine it.”

Morana wraps her cloak tighter around herself and shrugs.  “It turned out all right in the end,” she says. “I’m here now, after all.  That’s more than I ever could have imagined.”

Ruyana turns to face her impulsively, mind full of a thousand different things she can hardly comprehend. “Can I ask you something?”

Morana turns to mirror her and nods, and in that moment she is every bit the wolf she left behind, watching, waiting, too still, or too vigilant.

“The woman you talked about...who gave you the amulet…” Ruyana begins, perhaps stammers, uncertain of what exactly she wants to say until the words tumble from her lips.  “Do you still love her?” she asks, all in a rush, captivated by Morana’s bright green eyes and the flecks of fresh snow in her wild dark hair.

Morana considers her for a moment, inclines her head thoughtfully as her hand curls around her amulet.  “I will always hold her close to my heart,” she says. “But it was a very long time ago.”

“So…” Ruyana ducks her head, twists her hands into her blanket.  “Would you, maybe, be open to...something new?”

Morana’s lips quirk upward into a small and somewhat devious smile, and she closes what little distance there is between them.  She brushes the backs of her fingers against Ruyana’s cheek and brings her fingertips to rest beneath Ruyana;s chin.

All around them it is the dead of winter, but in Ruyana's heart it is the first bloom in spring, the warmth of summer, the abundance of autumn, and something else, something beyond what she knows how to put into words.

"Everything is new," says Morana, "and ever-changing.  What can I do but embrace it?"

Ruyana feels joy bubbling up in her chest, feels snow falling upon her cheeks and catching in her hair as she looks up into Morana's eyes and grins.  She throws her arms about Morana's shoulders and kisses her lips, and when Morana makes a small, pleased noise against her lips, Ruyana marvels at how something so simple and so unexpected could be exactly what she has been longing for.


End file.
